Page 30 of In Her Sights
“To Dutch’s, then?” he asked, starting the SUV.
“We need to make a detour to my house first.”
He turned left out of the parking lot. “Did you forget something?”
“Pants.” She flicked at the hem of her sundress, and he shot a glance at her legs before quickly refocusing on the road. “Plus a few other things.” She’d been in Dutch’s once or twice, although she did her best to stay away from the hole-in-the-wall bar—which had always fit nicely with her previous plan of avoiding unnecessary danger. Just from those few visits, she knew she’d need some of her favorite on-the-job tools.
John cleared his throat. “Pants are probably a good idea. Dutch’s is probably the only place you could get tetanus and hepatitis from sitting on one of their barstools.”
Her lips pulled back in a disgusted grimace. “Thanks for that. I think I’ll just stay standing, pants or no pants.”
“Good idea.”
He pulled into her driveway, and she hurried to get out of the SUV and jogged toward the front door, figuring that John would wait for her outside. When she heard the car door slam, she turned to see him following her, and she fixed him with a look.
“What are you doing?”
His eyebrows rose, matching hers, and his stride didn’t slow until he stood right next to her on the front porch. “Getting you some pants.”
“I don’t exactly need your help with that.” Despite her words, she unlocked the door and let him follow her inside. If she stopped every time they disagreed about something, they wouldn’t get anything done. “I’ve been getting myself dressed for several years now.”
His chuckle was low and had an odd note of heat, but she immediately dismissed the thought. If it was anything close to that, it was because he was just teasing her. Before he could say anything, the throaty grumble of a car engine turning over caught both of their attention.
The neighborhood was normally quiet—when they weren’t getting their house searched by police and having random guys trying to break in. Since the hunting lodge’s entrance was on the other side of the resort’s property, the only occasional traffic was Mr. P’s BMW sedan or the Villaneaus’ grown daughter’s minivan. Molly knew the sound and appearance of all her neighbors’ vehicles. She was even familiar with all her neighbors’ friends’ and families’ vehicles.
She didn’t know this car.
She peered through the darkness, trying to make out the driver, but the car was sitting in the gloomy spot between two streetlights. The porch light above her was spotlighting her position and ruining her night vision, and she suddenly felt exposed. The dark interior of the strange vehicle seemed menacing, the unknown making the unseen driver a thousand times scarier than if she’d been able to make out the slightest details. All of the stories about Sonny’s horrific misdeeds, both rumored and confirmed, rose in her mind, and her breath caught audibly.
“What’s wrong?” John asked, his voice growly, protective almost, as his gaze swept the street and immediately landed on the unknown car. “Who’s that?”
The reminder of John’s presence pulled her out of her imagination-fueled worry, and anger shoved out her feeling of vulnerability. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” This was her neighborhood, her house. What right did this interloper have to make her feel hunted on her own front porch? As she surged down the steps and toward the car, intending to confront the driver, the headlights flashed on, blinding her even further. She hesitated, blinking away the bright haloes burned into her vision, and the car shot forward. The engine roared as the driver accelerated quickly, darting past her and leaving just the shrinking taillights and the acrid scent of burned rubber behind.
“I don’t suppose you caught a plate number?” Even as she asked, Molly knew the answer would be no. There was no way that John had caught a glimpse of the license plate. With the glare of the headlights, all she’d been able to tell was that it’d been a four-door sedan.
“No.” His voice came from right behind her, surprising her. She’d figured he’d stayed on the porch, but he must’ve followed during her impulsive attempt to confront the mystery car’s driver.
Since the taillights had disappeared into the night, she turned and started back toward the house. John fell in beside her. “Any idea who that was? You didn’t happen to get a peek at the driver, did you?” she asked.
“No to both.” John’s voice was tight with worry. “All I caught was that the car was a late-model Dodge Charger, dark blue or possibly green.”
“Oh well.” Molly brushed off her disappointment and a lingering feeling of menace as she returned to the front door and opened it, waving John through into the house. “They weren’t actually doing anything wrong, except being somewhat creepy.” She had a hunch the cops—especially her two new Denver detective buddies—would’ve frowned on her doing a citizen’s arrest for loitering. Still, with everything that had been happening, she knew better than to dismiss the incident completely. Besides, listening to her gut had kept her alive in a dangerous job over the past few years. If her instincts were telling her that something was off about that mystery car, she was going to listen.
Warrant greeted them, the lazy wag of his tail speeding up when he recognized John, who gave the dog’s ruff a vigorous scratching. When John looked up and caught Molly’s exasperated expression, he asked, “What?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled, not wanting to admit that she was a little miffed that her dog was more excited to see Carmondy than he was to see her, the person who fed him. She really didn’t want to admit that watching John loving on her dog was annoyingly endearing. Giving herself a mental shake, she started to automatically tell John to make himself at home, but then she caught herself and stuffed the words back down. He didn’t need any encouragement to wedge himself even further into her life. Instead, as she headed for the stairs, she simply said, “I’ll be right back.”
On her way to go change, she saw the door to Norah’s tiny bedroom was ajar and stuck her head in to see her sister in her usual position: sitting cross-legged on the bed, hunched over her laptop. Since Norah was obviously caught up in whatever was on her screen, Molly tapped her knuckles lightly against the doorjamb. Her efforts not to startle Norah weren’t successful, since she jumped about a foot at the quiet knock.
“Molly! I didn’t hear you come in.” She straightened her laptop, which had toppled sideways when she’d startled. “You’re back early. No luck?”
“Costume change and weapon collection,” Molly explained. “Then we’ll be heading back out again. All’s quiet here?” Even as she kept her voice light, she thought about the car sitting within view of their house. Sometimes, she wished that Norah didn’t get so caught up in her research. When she was really interested in what she was reading, the rest of the world disappeared.
“Yeah.” Norah stretched her arms toward the ceiling, making her oversize sleep shirt bunch up around her shoulders. “Where’s John? Did you ditch him already?”
“No. Not that it hasn’t been tempting.” The last part felt like a lie, and Molly hurried to change the subject before she did something ridiculous—like blush or explain that she’d been tempted by John, just not to escape him. “Is Cara in her room?”
“I think so.” A small line appeared between Norah’s eyebrows. “She said she had to run a few errands, but that was…” She glanced at the screen, as if checking the time. “An hour ago? Maybe? Sorry, I was caught up in this.” As she gestured toward her laptop, worry tightened her features, and Molly hid her irrational concern for Cara being out alone under a reassuring smile.
